Misfortune 121

Chapter 121

***

"It was all for the young lady!"

At that moment, Sophie lashed out, desperately countering Roan's words. No, it was truly nothing but a hideous, desperate outburst now.

"As long as that filthy blood flowed through her veins, she had an obligation to constantly prove to Madame that she was Eperne!"

Her eyes, filled with pathetic excuses and rationalizations, glinted strangely.

He rose, bitterly reflecting on the life of the woman who had followed this madwoman as her nanny. Even staying in the same place now felt like torture.

"Oh, I have some good news to share."

But instead of leaving, Roan suddenly turned back to Sophie.

"About my sister you claimed to have killed. Lena."

He recited it flatly. Monotonous and indifferent, as if merely correcting a factual error. So that she couldn't grasp this was a curse.

"I met her again recently."

"……………… What?"

"Thankfully, she was alive and well. She was leading a fairly prominent merchant guild. Perhaps she was even more successful than I am."

The persistent, brazen expression that had insisted he'd only done what was right finally drained of color.

Roan watched Sophie succumb to the curse with his usual impassive gaze.

He had long since realized where the subtle sense of déjà vu he felt upon entering this mansion originated.

A place he dared not set foot in as a child. Yet, when he returned as an invader, it had become a criminal's domain he could enter freely.

It was Marianne Eperne's private quarters.

He had little desire to know the intentions behind replicating his master's room exactly. He only needed to confirm that the curse he had personally poured in had taken hold.

"Impossible... I told you she definitely fell off the cliff, that she couldn't possibly have survived...!"

Sophie screamed, her face contorted. It was all according to his plan.

"The bitch’s children are all alive and well? We've ended up like this, and they're all... It's impossible! It's a lie!"

Roan turned his back even on the madwoman who clung to linking Eperne with 'us' until the very end. And he began moving his feet again.

He never once looked back until he escaped that repulsive space.

***

The caretaker, welcoming his first guest since taking charge of Belfort Castle, gaped in astonishment. The unexpected visit only deepened his bewilderment.

"My apologies, Colonel. Had I known you were coming, I would have prepared more properly..."

"Don't worry about it. I'm just passing through and stopped briefly. I'll be leaving again soon."

"Ah, I see."

Finally reassured by Roan's explanation, the caretaker brightened and offered,

"Shall I give you a tour of the castle?"

"No need. I only intend to look around briefly on my own."

"Very well, then. Please feel free to explore at your leisure."

After the steward withdrew, Roan, left alone, slowly wandered through the castle.

The scenery of the fortress, garrisoned only by the bare minimum of personnel for upkeep, was bleak and desolate.

The gray walls rose high, as if propping up the sky or keeping watch, while the marble halls devoid of any floral decorations and the furniture covered in a thin layer of dust spoke volumes about how long this place had been neglected.

Yet even this desolate scene couldn't be the trigger for the unfamiliar feeling washing over him like waves.

He stared blankly into the void, as if watching seawater curl around his ankles.

'Was this place always like this?'

It felt utterly different from just a short while ago, when he had trampled here with military boots to complete his revenge.

He had once invaded spaces forbidden to him without hesitation, dragging out those who once terrified him, but now feared him in return. And then, finally, when he discovered the woman in the underground passage.

He felt an unprecedented thrill, yet at the same time, a sense of emptiness.

The majestic castle that always seemed to look down on him, the towering walls that appeared utterly impassable—they were, in truth, such insignificant things.

Yet, in stark contrast to that past arrogance, he now felt an overwhelming sense of pressure once more. A weight different from the one that had shrunk him in his childhood, overwhelmed by its sheer magnitude.

As he stepped through the arched pillars into the corridor, the stone floor, covered with a thin carpet, resonated with a low hum.

Back when his line of sight was incomparably lower than it was now.

Even then, this floor had carried the same resonance.

Whether in its days of splendid glory or now, reduced to the ruins of a fallen past, this colossal fortress stood steadfast, not the slightest bit shaken, simply maintaining its place in silence.

And it was precisely that fact that overwhelmed Roan now.

Something that never changes, no matter how much time passes. Something old, yet never crumbling. Like the skeleton that remains until the very end, even as the flesh and skin of a dead creature rot and decay.

A witness that never testifies, yet records all of history.

Before that sublime and cruel observer, Roan had to force himself to recall, as if vomiting up his insides. The traces of himself once written upon this castle.

Then, in an instant, his shadow—barely half his length—dashed forward with fierce momentum. Simultaneously, a bright voice cried out, snatching at the back of his neck.

“Roan!”

Knowing it was an auditory hallucination, he still looked around frantically at the sound, clear enough to grasp.

Naturally, the owner of the voice was nowhere to be found.

But his eyes saw her. Color gradually painted over the formless shadow. Growing brighter, more dazzling.

That time he'd crept down the hallway, hiding from the adults. That moment he'd stolen a glance at her from the dim end of the corridor, as she greeted a guest with an elegance unlike her usual self. The expression that blossomed when she'd somehow spotted him.

She wasn't actually here. Yet he could see her everywhere. In this castle, in his memory, there was no place she wasn't.

As if swept away by a sudden flood, he began to move. It felt like a ghostly hand was pushing him from behind. He took steps without knowing where he was going.

He came to a halt before a door that felt painfully familiar.

By the time he came to his senses, his hand was already on the doorknob.

The door opened easily with just a light touch. It seemed almost unbelievable that there had been a time when he had to grip it so tightly his arms went numb to hold it shut.

And so, the pure white scene that greeted him.

The ownerless room was entirely white, as if after a heavy snowfall. This was because cloths had been draped over the furniture to keep dust off.

He walked through it, crunching and clattering, as if treading on snow untouched by anyone.

Even though everything was concealed, he could clearly envision the original shapes as if seeing through them. This was likely because even the furniture's positions hadn't shifted one bit.

It was a moment when he was carefully taking in the space, as if time had stopped.

Something flickered beyond the curtain covering the window beside the bed. A light as hazy as the cloudy sky faintly outlined a small, square shape.

He approached the window as if spellbound. Then, with a cautious hand, he lifted the curtain.

A small frame lay overturned on the windowsill. It was within arm's reach from the bed.

This was something he didn't remember from his past. It was merely a frame, no bigger than the palm of his hand, but precisely because everything else remained unchanged, its foreignness felt all the more pronounced.

And so, he reached out. Perhaps before he was even conscious of it.

"This is..."

A stifled gasp escaped his lips as he examined the frame.

Between the small panes of glass, a pressed flower with dainty purple petals was carefully preserved.

The thin, delicate petals remained perfectly intact, not a single corner split or broken. Just looking at it, one could clearly sense how precious it must have been treated.

And thanks to that care, Roan could recognize the pressed flower's identity at a glance.

“Roan! Someone saw a Belfort anemone bloom in the forest. Let's go see it too.”

“A Belfort anemone?”

“Yeah. It's a wild anemone that only blooms here.”

A flower that grew only deep in the forest, one even the people of Belfort rarely saw.

A flower that died quickly if touched by human hands, one you could only glimpse after trudging through rugged mountain paths until your legs ached.

“Thank you for finding it, Roan.”

“I'm sorry, I was just being stubborn.”

It was that very flower that had made him wander the forest again, all for a few simple words of thanks.

“Roan, you transplanted the Belfort anemone, didn't you?”

When she asked him that with her bright, sparkling eyes.

Anyone but a fool would have known. That the only person who would do such a thing was himself.

“No.”

Yet he denied it. It wasn't because he didn't want to show off to her, or because he was embarrassed. And certainly not because he wanted her to truly believe him.

It was simply because he wanted to pretend he didn't know the feeling himself—the feeling that drove him to transplant the flower into the flowerbed, even though he knew it would wither in the end.